With a look of defiance on her face, Morgan asked, “Seriously. You think I dressed in this tight, revealing costume and managed to get down all those impossibly steep steps wearing six-inch spike heels just so that you could run me through with that sword?”

Realizing she’d bought herself a momentary reprieve from dying on the executioner’s blade, “I didn’t come down here to simply die on your sword. Not when you have an entire torture chamber filled with erotically perverse and gruesomely brutal instruments of death, just waiting to kill me. If I’m going to die, especially for your darkly twisted amusement, I want to die in the slowest, most agonizingly torturous way possible.”

As the executioner lowered his sword, a faint smile appeared on Morgan’s face, “I happen to know that this torture chamber contains one of the most unspeakably vile instruments of brutal torture ever created. One reserved exclusively for the torturous execution of women found guilty of unrepentant promiscuous behavior or adultery, the Iron Maiden.”

“Honestly, why miss this chance to torture me to death? After all, I’m eagerly looking forward to suffering a darkly erotic and unspeakably painful death, helplessly enduring long horrifying days of unrelenting agony locked within the Iron Maiden’s torturous confines, all simply for your evil amusement.”

A look of masochistically eager anticipation replaced Morgan’s smile, “What more could a beautiful woman with a darkly masochistic death wish offer?”